


Chilopodophobia

by Dynamic_Ideation



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dynamic_Ideation/pseuds/Dynamic_Ideation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barry hears his neighbor-the hot one- screaming for help, he knows he has to do something.</p><p>What he finds on the other side of the door is the last thing he expected. </p><p> </p><p>'He hears nothing; until she screams again.<br/>“Noooooooo!” It’s so ragged and tortured it sends chills down his spine. </p><p>So he does what any other red-blooded American would do; he kicks the fuckin’ door in.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chilopodophobia

The hysterical scream jerks Barry awake. His clock says 3:13 AM. Was he dreaming? Imagining things?

After a moment’s pause he hears it again. It’s his next door neighbor, the hot one; she’s screaming bloody murder. It leaves him shaken, and he clambers out of bed and puts his ear up to the wall that separates them. The walls in the entire place are paper thin, and he can hear her mewling helplessly, _oh my God oh my God oh my God._

He’s not sure what to do but she sounds like she’s in trouble, he has to do _something_. He’s only sleeping an old pair of basketball shorts, so he throws on a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers, thinking the whole time that he was probably going to get himself murdered right along with her, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t lie around doing nothing while someone was hurting an innocent woman.

He gets to her door and bangs his balled up fist on it, hard, calling out. He has no idea what her name is. “Excuse me, Miss, is everything alright in there? Hello? Helllooooo?” He knocks louder and pauses to listen. He hears nothing; until she screams again. “Noooooooo!” It’s so ragged and tortured it sends chills down his spine.

So he does what any other red-blooded American would do; he kicks the fuckin’ door in.

He takes a few steps back, gets a bit of a running start, and launches his foot at the spot right next to the door knob. The door flies open and comes apart like matchsticks. _Holy shit, the Jack Reacher novels weren’t lying_. He follows the crying into the bathroom. She’s there.

“Hey! Miss, are you-?”

She’s standing on the toilet. Her face is streaked with tears, but other than that, she’s in perfect health. She’s in a tank top, shorts, and actual blue bunny slippers. Her hair is wrapped in a brown scarf. And she’s definitely still hot.

“Wha?” Barry points at her, “But you-“ then he points back into her apartment, “But I heard-“ he points towards the wall that separates them.

“There’s a thing in here please help me please help me-“

“There’s a what?”

“A thing. With all its nasty legs and nasty body-“ She curls the fingers of both her hands and motions with them like she’s a concert pianist.

“A spider?”

“No!”

“A- ooooh!” A centipede.” As if on cue, he sees it run from one corner of her little bathroom towards another. “Okay don’t look.”

“Do you see it? KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!” She’s still shrieking.

“It’s okay, just calm down, just relax, I got it.” Barry kills the thing; he smites it with a piece of tissue paper. Ugh. To be quite honest he’s not a fan either. Too damn fast and too many legs.

“Get it out! Get it out of my apartment!”

“What do you want me to do with it?” Barry’s totally perplexed.

“I don’t know just get it out!”

“I’m gonna flush it down the toilet but you have to get off of it.” The woman refuses to touch the floor. Apparently the centipede has turned it into lava. She steps gingerly from the toilet lid to the edge of the bathtub, and clings precariously to the curtain rod overhead. He gets it flushed.

She breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Okay, now wash your hands. Please.” “Alright, alright.” Barry washes his hands with the foamy soap; now they smell like cucumber melon. “Help me, please, I can’t touch this floor.” She holds out her arms to him. _What does she-? oh_. Barry obligingly scoops her up, one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and carries her out of the bathroom “The Bodyguard” style. She’s not very heavy; she’s actually kind of petite. She must work out though, because he can feel how taut and toned she is. A delicate scent emanates from her luminous skin. He gets all of that in the fifteen seconds it takes to carry her to the couch.

He pops into her room and grabs a blanket off her bed and wraps her in it, because he’s heard that people need blankets when they’re in shock and that’s what paramedics do, and isn’t it appropriate in a situation like this? He wraps her in it, and sits opposite her on her coffee table, and smooths his hands up and down her arms. She’s shivering.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m, I’m better.”

Barry wasn’t sure what else to say, so he tells her, “I thought you were being serial murdered. I kicked in your door.”

She looks up at him. “You did?” She shakes her head, with the hint of a smile. “My hero.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to be wrong. But I’m confused.”

“I have a phobia. A totally irrational one, as you can see. _It felt_ like I was being murdered. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I just can’t do…those things.”

“You mean centipedes?”

“Don’t say the word.”

“Whoa. It’s really deep, isn’t it?”

“I’m so embarrassed.” She buries her face in her hands.

“It’s alright.” At least he gets to touch her.

“This is why I live so high up, because they’re usually in basements, and this is why I prefer to live in buildings with newer construction, because the nasty things can’t get in so easily and I must sound really out of my mind.”

“You don’t sound crazy at all.” Barry lied.

“I like you. You’re nice enough to lie.”

He finds a clock and sees that now it’s four in the morning. It makes him yawn, as if he just reminded his body what it should be doing at this time of morning. “Listen, I think I’m gonna get back to bed-“

“No, no, stay. Would you stay?” Her eyes are pleading. “My couch isn’t so bad right? You can sleep here. We both will fit.”

Both of them. Well, if she insists.

He’s on his back, she’s tucked in between him and the back of the couch, in the crook of his arm. He’s a bit long for her couch, but he’ll manage. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to take a shower before I went all 'Die Hard With A Vengeance.'”

“Don’t worry, you’re good. Besides, you’re seeing me in my head wrap. That usually doesn’t happen until the three-month anniversary.” He isn’t sure how to respond to that. It makes him feel very bashful.

“You mind? It’s kinda chilly.”

“Oh, my bad.” She spreads the blanket out so that it's covering Barry too. 

“Yeah, I know it’s your bad, blanket hog.” She pinches him, playfully, before laying her hand on his chest, right in the center, directly over his quickening heartbeat. Barry can’t figure out where exactly to put the arm she’s tucked under; finally he finds the nerve to put it around her tiny little waist. He’s gotten used to sleeping alone in his queen sized bed, but here he sees it’s possible to sleep much more peacefully on a cramped, narrow couch. Maybe he’s been missing having someone like her to share with. It’s partly from all the excitement, but mainly from the good company, that he falls asleep much faster, and sleeps much deeper, than he normally is able to.

When the sunlight slices through the blinds and lands across his face, Barry wakes up, disoriented. It takes a second for the details of the creepy-crawly rescue to make it back to him. He checks on his former damsel in distress; all he can see is the top of her head. He rubs his palm up and down her arm, gently, so as not to wake her. It just feels right to touch her, to enjoy this contented feeling while he can be so near to her. Her skin is perfectly smooth, which doesn’t surprise him in the least.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when she puts her arm around his own waist and gives him a bit of a squeeze. She looks up at him, eyes soft and expression delicate. “I’m sorry, I’ve been up for a little while, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” He’s feeling pretty bold now, so the arm that was above his head while they slept, it goes around her as well. He’s pleasantly surprised when she gently nuzzles her face into his chest. He could get used to this.

“I like you,” she says again, very matter-of-factly. “What’s your name?” He looks at her with an “I’ll be damned” face. They never got to that.

“I’m Barry.”

“I’m Iris. Nice to meet you, Barry.”

“Iris. I like that.”

“Get used to it. You’re my official creepy-crawly killer.”

“Okay, just as long as I don’t have to destroy any more doors. You can just call me and I'll come over.”

“Oh I can, huh?” She replies in a taunting voice.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like, I’m not trying to-“

“It’s okay. I think I would like to. Call you for that.” She sounds a bit flustered, and he wonders how in the hell he could ever make woman like Iris feel flustered at all.

“Hey,” she asks, “do you like grits? Eggs sunny side up? Bacon, toast?”

“All of that sounds good to me.”

“Perfect.” She hops up. “I have to make it up to you, somehow, so at least let me make my hero some breakfast.” He admires her form in those shorts as she pads her way to the kitchen on bare feet.

“Wow thanks, I’d love that, Iris.”

“Of course. I have to be sure you’ll come back.” She peeks over her shoulder at him and winks.

Somehow he thinks that won’t be a problem.


End file.
